As a measure of where we are, culturally – and of the levels of pretending currently expected – this rather captures something: 

How terribly modern. How fashionably unhinged.

Moments later, the two girls returned, hurriedly, explaining in whispered tones that, “There was a man in the shower with us.” Ms Tyrrell promptly told the girls to get changed in a toilet stall, where privacy of a sort might be maintained.

Naturally enough,

However,

Unhappy about the front desk’s dismissal of her concerns, Ms Tyrrell contacted the pool’s management via email, resulting in some unexpected confusion:

Presumably, on grounds that no-one, but no-one, could possibly object to a big, hairy, very male pervert lurking in a changing room intended for women and girls. So, obviously, it must be something else. Some kind of fashion issue.

Ms Dobler was keen to remind Ms Tyrrell and other unnerved ladies that the pool does provide the option of “single stall washrooms or changerooms for patrons… [who] want to maintain more privacy.” In other words, women and girls who would rather not shower in front of big, hairy perverts can always retreat and surrender territory to the aforementioned big, hairy perverts.

Women and girls, you see, being a lower priority.

It’s the progressive pecking order.

Know your place, ladies.

At which point, Ms Tyrrell, now somewhat incredulous, replied with a not unreasonable question:

This, however, prompted a more chiding response from the pool’s management, with Ms Dobler boasting, “We are proud to have a Diversity in Changerooms Policy in our centres,” and adding that patrons are welcome to use showers and changing facilities “where they feel most safe.” The ironies of this statement apparently passing undetected.

“Everyone’s gender identity and expressions are valid,” Ms Dobler insisted. “Our goal is to create an inclusive environment where everyone feels respected and valued.”

Readers will note that the word everyone is rather heavy with connotations and does not seem to include women and girls who aren’t overly keen on the intimate proximity of big, creepy men. Even if those big, creepy men are wearing sparkly bikinis intended for children.

If the above should be insufficiently surreal, do read the rest over at Reduxx.

Update, via the comments:

Aitch notes Ms Dobler’s gratuitous pronouns and quips,

The ostentatious declaration of pronouns does, I think, communicate more than is perhaps realised. Sort of, I will happily pretend not to see the most glaring realities and obvious contradictions, and therefore cannot be relied upon.

Something along those lines.

Or simply, will lie.

Regarding the seeming obliviousness, the glib piety, of those inviting men into women-only spaces – and the kinds of men to whom such opportunities might appeal – Dicentra adds,

Which brought to mind this recent illustration of the same phenomenon, in which obtuseness blurs into practised dishonesty:

Again, the progressive pecking order. Adherence to which entails pretending one doesn’t know any number of rather obvious things.

Regarding the recent Māori theatrics in the New Zealand parliament:

Interesting. Are we indigenous Danes also more spiritually and culturally connected to our land than the recent immigrants? https://t.co/4WzK6HOr2g

— Jonatan Pallesen (@jonatanpallesen) November 16, 2024

Oddly, no reply was forthcoming.

Update, via the comments:

On those connections to the land: 

Today’s word, since you ask, is juxtaposition.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Today’s word is proximity. || How to make the day exciting. || The wallet wins, I think. || House fire, interior view. || The thrill of saving up for one. || And every submarine should have one. || “Did you hear the music playing?” || Mushroom colour atlas. || Screw the kids, she gets to feel smug. || Question asked, promptly answered. || You want one and you know it. || “And they do bras as well.” || When everything is a latrine. (h/t, pst314) || Eternal TV, for niche streaming enthusiasts. (h/t, Things) || Misleading meme. || Answers on a postcard, please. || With four mallets. (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || Made of hemp and horse excrement. || How to deflate a cow. || For scale. || A UFO timeline. || For the fuller figure. || And finally, with effort, a journey to remember: “Do you need to take your pants down?”

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Mr Destiny, who is, I gather, some kind of deep thinker, a moral colossus of the left, is apparently unable to make a mug of hot chocolate:

My Uber driver brought me my hot chocolate today on bike. It took 45 minutes to get here, and this is what happens as soon as I pick up the bag to bring it inside.

This is Trump’s America. pic.twitter.com/g4iBNXsQjt

— Destiny (@TheOmniLiberal) November 12, 2024

Needless to say, mockery ensues. 

Update, via the comments: 

Mr Destiny – aka Steven Kenneth Bonnell II – evidently felt that the moment above had some symbolic meaning, some charged political relevance. Which, I suppose, it does, in a way. Though not, I think, of the kind he imagines. In that, it merely tells us something about him.

Mags adds,

Quite. And it’s a world in which your cup of hot chocolate has its own driver.

I did briefly wonder if Mr Bonnell might be trying to make some ironic point about modernity and decadence, but that doesn’t appear to be his style at all. And even if the objective were to say, “Look at how decadent we are,” that doesn’t really work, since the more obvious message is “Look at how decadent I am…” The we being rather presumptuous.

And I suspect that many of us here manage to make it through the day, most days, without being overly decadent. Say, by not having single cups of hot chocolate needlessly delivered to our doors, seemingly on a daily basis. Or by not finding loudly announced amusement in the death of a random stranger who was trying to shield his family from gunfire during an assassination attempt on a presidential candidate.

As Mr Bonnell did.

By all means, consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

And in shoe-related news:

Yes, I know. Another entry for our Thing That Never Happens file.

But first, a flashback:

Don’t ask.

A pattern repeated upon his release, and hence a second, present-day appearance in court. But this time, with added kinks and complications:

Because this is where we are now. Or where the Germans are, at least.

Happily, the court decided that, as the gentleman, referred to only as Klaus, had not yet legally asserted his claim of being the opposite sex, the charges of exhibitionism were indeed applicable. And so, another spell in Bedlam.

Still, I suspect those new silicone pseudo-breasts, acquired between stays, may be some consolation.

Perhaps less happily,

A comfort to all concerned, I’m sure.

After all, what could possibly go wrong when housing with women a mentally ill man who likes to hold knives to women’s throats before stealing their footwear, and hoarding said footwear for sexual purposes? A man who delights in stalking women, assaulting them, and waving his tallywhacker at mothers with their young daughters.

A man who is referred to in the German media, somewhat surreally, as a woman, a she-person, despite being identified via the very male genetic material left at the scenes of his crimes.

Oh, and should you be concerned about the whereabouts of all those stolen items, fear not:

Her treasures, obligingly stored.

Update, via the comments:

Alice quotes this from the bizarrely misleading German news coverage:

She then adds, not unreasonably,

Indeed. And for the women he robbed and assaulted, and the women and girls at whom he flashed his penis, it must be quite odd, and probably aggravating, to hear media reports of some entirely imaginary shoe-robbing, penis-flashing woman.

As noted here previously regarding a not dissimilar incident:

And,

But we live in unhinged times. In which observable reality is something to be ignored.

Dublin man. || Oh dear. || Best not to dawdle, I think. || Your bedroom buddy. || His is bigger. || Theirs is bigger, too. || Houseguest. || A game about making wigs (and buying hair, and drones, and a war against hats). Previously. || It was a day of ups and downs. || Alas, I don’t know the name for this. || Well, that escalated quickly. || Luckily, he had a sandal. || At last, a guide to vomiting. || Nommy-nommy-nom. || No, I have no idea. || Ideal teacher material. || Satellite made of wood. || How to move the Moon (while melting quite a bit of it). || “I’m pressure. I’m pressurelicious.” || Project Sundial. || The progressive retail experience, parts 591, 592, 593, and 594. || He says fortune smiled upon him. || Bigfoot. || Fun for all the family. || And finally, oh don’t pull that face, you want one and you know it.

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Because I like to bring comfort to those in distress, How To Avoid Tears And Pretentious Agonising: 

Well, you’d think that repel invaders and uphold the most basic of laws wouldn’t be too much to ask of a government. And yet.

And at this terribly difficult time, for some, do spare a thought for this tightly-wound progressive gentleman, presumably now trembling at the prospect of some Trumpian Sturmabteilung. Oh, and this madam here, the editor-in-chief of Mother Jones. The one rendered distraught by a flight attendant’s courtesy and its ominous implications for the future of the world.

Update, via the comments:

Writing in the Guardian, the left-leaning novelist Francine Prose is not, I fear, taking recent developments well: 

Following the above, those unhinged leanings really kick into gear, with the inevitable mentions of Hitler, Stalin, dictatorship, people thrown from helicopters, and “the imprisonment and execution of those who disagree.” A feverish, dystopian drama in which, one assumes, Ms Prose anticipates a starring role.

Needless to say, Ms Prose is far from alone in her weird theatre of distress. And as illustrated many times in the comments below, the overlap of progressive politics and mental illness would seem to be quite significant.

And so, we have the round-the-clock delusional ravings of MSNBC, including the repeated claim that Florida is “an extreme right-wing fascist state,” and Laura Helmuth, the editor-in-chief of Scientific American, a once-reputable publication, screeching profanities and insisting, quite emphatically, that anyone who chose to vote differently from herself must be racist, sexist, and “fucking fascists.”

No other possibilities fitting inside her gentle, thoughtful head.  

Lifted from the previous post, an excruciatingly obtuse discussion about wangs and women’s changing rooms. In which the very patient Warren Smith attempts to tease sense from a self-styled ‘Harris voter’.

Again, I say obtuse, but it’s more a matter of practised dishonesty:

Responding to the exchange above, Rafi adds, not unfairly, 

Mr Harris Voter does seem to be struggling with some very basic realities. Things that we, as a society, used to understand.

For seekers of the erotic and forbidden:

Consider this an open thread.

I’ll start the ball rolling with an excruciatingly obtuse discussion about wangs and women’s changing rooms. I say obtuse, but it’s more a matter of practised dishonesty.

Share ye links and bicker.

Suboptimal scenario. || Evolved for smartphones. || How to make a simple thing needlessly complicated, parts 1, 2, and 3. || Bedtime snacks. || Large objects. || Incoming. || Incoming 2. || For recreational purposes. || Pyramid building redux. Previously. || Mortal remains. || Hallucinate in mud, 1969. || There was smoke, some shouting. || Meanwhile, in Japan. || Autoerotic scenes. || Fly repellent? || At last, toe shoes. || Paranormal furniture and uncanny bangings, 1983. || Parking is hard. || For the children, you say? || How to stretch your daughter. || I’d say bullet dodged. || Gloopiness. Previously. || Malayan leaf frog. || Questions from 1964: “Is Wales rife with witchcraft?” || Furniture for “even the most delicate female.” || Flesh-eating bees make meat honey. || It’s good to polish those language skills.

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